It Belonged to the Greatest Beauty of the Age
by OcarinaSapphire24
Summary: Surviving the lions' den of Kingslanding, the chaotic 'Purple Wedding' - and her time in the capitol has changed how Sansa sees the world around her... She's begun taking her first tentative steps in the Game, with adept Lord Baelish- an admirable guide and advisor- gifted a survival instinct second-to-none. Gratitude turns into something more, as she finds a new sense of herself.


[I hadn't read Book 3/ seen most of Seasons 2/ 3 (I got snippets of things from the god that is YOUTUBE!), when I was writing this- so this was largely speculative, I was partially going on online summaries of the later books- as well as my own imagination, but I knew that Sansa's betrothal's broken at end of Season 2, when Margaery of House Tyrell took her place- and she talked to Baelish, who warned her marriage or lack of it, wouldn't stop Joffrey from taking her if he wanted her.

She saved a drunk Ser Dontos from being killed at Joffrey's name day joust, with help from the Hound- she's married to Tyrion, and Joffrey later told her (as Petyr warned), that a king can take whoever he wants to bed. Later still, Baelish got her out, with Dontos' help, during the chaos that followed Joffrey's death and took her to his home, married her former Tully aunt Lysa at The Fingers (he became a Great Lord, for his efforts on the Crown's behalf, becoming overlord of the Riverlands and thus 'worthy' of a High House, like Arryn).

Then they travelled to the Eyrie, her aunt's home- though Lysa didn't particularly like it (resented Cat for having a hold over Petyr, despite the fact that she was the one who slept with him/ it was Cat's name he called- like Cersei with Robert (Lyanna), her hate for _that_ event runs deep)- she went along with Petyr's wish, being willing to betroth her to her son, Sansa's cousin, Robin Arryn only 6/ 7 years old, to Sansa's like 13/ 14 (though she's currently still married to Tyrion, but Lysa's certain he'll be dead by the time Robin comes of age). She knows everyone wants her, for her inheritance- marrying her to whom they wish, in order to gain control of the North.

She's growing up very beautiful and attracts the attention of her aunt's bard, though she refuses him- but in the winter, when she made a model of Winterfell, Petyr helped her up, complimented her on her beauty, then kissed her – her aunt witnessed it- and later tried to kill her – Petyr saved her life and killed her aunt (framing the bard to get rid of him as well), making her mistress of the Eyrie- he educates her on court intrigue and generally keeps her safe- he plans to betroth her to the other heir, Harold Hardyng, to help her lay claim to the North- it's assumed that only she, 'Arya' and Jon are alive, by the start of Book 5- she's older than Arya- and Jon is a bastard who can't inherit, unless legitimised and released from the Nights Watch.

And I thought the idea of marrying didn't preclude her having a lover, after all- she has been learning from him and has been helped by him in several ways - he's warm, protective and even though he's done some reprehensible things (most of which she doesn't know of) he's been a friend to her - I was slightly also inspired by the early history of Elizabeth I- with the idea that she might have been involved with Sir/ Lord High Admiral Thomas Seymour, a very ambitious and dangerously attractive man, who was a great deal older, that the 13 year old princess - his wife (King Henry VIII's last wife and Elizabeth's stepmother) died following childbirth and rumours were that he was planning to marry the Princess- and even that she was pregnant by Seymour.

Someone said she was the inspiration for Sansa - I don't know how romantic their relationship goes, from the kiss, but this is my imagining of how it might go- keeping in mind his understanding of what's already happened to her- and the fact that he was in love with her mother- and she's as beautiful, if not more so- and is proving more mouldable. I've also postulated that she might feel abandoned by her family, so she needs to cling to what protection and affection she can]

He had come in to speak to her after she was already changed into her night attire- he often did; but as he had such early starts and late finishes, with his work as Lord Protector of the Vale, she had eventually become used to his seeing her in a state of deshabille', and at what she had once thought 'odd hours'.

Petyr usually made a point of talking to her about his plans- sometimes openly, sometimes with that slightly confusing enigmatic style and manner he had. He seemed to want to share his cleverness with her, knowing full-well it was in her interest to keep it all to herself. Her maid had flounced out- following a respectful curtsey to her mistress and Petyr, a moment after the Lord Protector had entered; the unspoken command being in place for a while: Lord Petyr didn't tolerate loitering or eavesdropping servants- and the Lady Alayne was perfectly safe in his sole presence.

She was very aware of his measuring glance, as he looked steadily at her - it seemed a simple, friendly- though slightly assessing look. But as always, things were rarely simple with this remarkable man who had a greater depth and more ambitions than any could guess at. "I have something for you. I want you to close your eyes."

Sansa hadn't stopped feeling apprehensive, when such words were uttered to her- even though Joffrey was long dead- and she had never been safer, than here at the Eyrie- now that her crazed Aunt Lysa was dead and the lascivious Marillon was also gone.

Trust was something she'd thought long beaten out of her. Yet she had come to trust Petyr, in spite of all she'd suffered with her former naiveté - he'd been her safe harbour, become her true refuge- he had never hurt her; and as difficult as her part in the death of the bard had been- it _had_ been for the best.

So, she closed her eyes. Sansa felt him propelling her forward and she moved with him, step by step- then he held her still, to stop her moving further. She then heard his always soothing, calm voice- like satin in its' smoothness, from close behind her, "I hope you won't be offended when I tell you, this once graced the neck of a bastard, **but** she was a King's bastard."

She was about to say something about the fact that _**she**_ was playing the part of a gentle, though base-born girl- and after all she'd endured in Kingslanding, it was unlikely anything was going to shock or offend her again. But just as the words came to her- that was when she felt a cool weight around her neck- and against her chest- and she opened her eyes - he'd moved her over to the mirror in her new chambers. Sansa wasn't sure she could trust the reflection before her, so she looked down- to see that the reflection that came with the weight was, indeed, real; and due the massive piece of laced silverwork, set with crystals and two precious stones, in alternating colours of blue and green. They were emeralds and sapphires - her eyes went wide: she knew _exactly_ what this was- she'd heard stories about it- and its fascinating owner. Her heartbeat kicked up a pace. "It's so beautiful," she whispered in wonder, touching the large central star sapphire.

"It belonged to the greatest beauty of the age. It seems right that it come to you." Petyr said, with his hands still resting gently on her shoulders.

"But, how did you..."

"As Master of Coin, I was privileged to enter the Royal Treasury, whenever I wished and was never questioned for it- I found this, hidden away in a dark corner all these years- in a plain ironwood box, under more obviously stunning chests and treasures. Cersei has never bothered to look beyond appearances- she would have supposed little of importance to be in such a simple and unornamented casket. She had sought out only the jewels that gleamed brightly before her- looked in ornate filigree jewel boxes and exquisitely carved ivory caskets that she could clearly see- and laid claim to whatever took her fancy, but she's no deep thinker- she has little sense of history. You, on the other hand, like Shiera before you- have an eye for true beauty. It looks perfect on you," he complimented.

"It's heavy," Sansa murmured in reply, gazing at the necklace's reflection in the highly polished glass.

"You'll wear it lightly enough, in time."

She smiled, lighting up her blue Tully eyes. In the mirror, she could see his own smile, and watched it turn from indulgent and pleased, to something else- she had seen that look before: when he kissed her.

He had done so much for her in the few years she had known him- his kindness in her early days at Kingslanding, when most things had been bright and happy- before everything in the world she had been building up, had crashed down around her – and later, in his warning her of the danger that existed with Joffrey, broken betrothal or not; not that Joffrey _hadn't_ made things equally clear to her, himself- before both of their marriages, to others- in her case, to his uncle, the dwarf- Tyrion.

Tyrion's consideration in that time, was something she was very grateful for. She was rather grateful to him in general, though she had hidden her revulsion of his physical deformities. He'd protected her- in his way, from the King's rages, not forced himself on her- and had always been- kind, in his own way- even when news came of the infamous Red Wedding- and she could barely bring herself to look at anyone or even eat.

But he was a Lannister- and she would never easily trust one of them, again. Yet, she had done her duty- appearing the dutiful wife, before the Court- though everyone knew the marriage unconsummated.

Petyr's words had made her realise it wasn't enough, to simply 'go through the motions'; she had to be cleverer than that- she had been early on, she thought- as she remembered back, to how she'd manipulated Joffrey into sparing Ser Dontos, at the tournament for his name day- though it may not have worked, if the Hound hadn't backed her up so assiduously, yet so artlessly at the same time; he spoke as though he didn't really care about the outcome. Yet he had- at least, he'd cared enough to make sure she wasn't caught out.

It had also been Petyr's efforts that had gotten her out of Kingslanding, when Joffrey expired at his own wedding feast- though Ser Dontos had later died for it, which seemed poor reward. But he was right in that, too- drunkards could not be trusted to keep secrets. He was right about so many things.

Sansa really had only him, she realised. There were so few remaining members on both sides of her kin still alive, after everything awful that had befallen the family: with the execution of her father, the Ironborn attack against her home, followed by the turncloak Boltons, the horrific Red Wedding perpetrated by the Freys – all the family that remained to her; her sickly cousin, Robin- here at the Eyrie, her uncle and great uncle were in the Twins and Riverlands respectively, and both were strangers to her- Arya had been sent back to the ruined Winterfell, to marry the legitimised Bolton bastard- but Sansa hadn't seen her, since their household was destroyed, in the aftermath of her father's arrest; except for themselves and Jeyne Poole- and Gods know where the latter ended up, after they were separated - and then there was her bastard half-brother Jon, far to the north, at the Wall- forbidden by his vows to leave without permission.

Her family were all either dead or far away from her – but Petyr was right here.

She turned, putting a soft hand tentatively to his face.

"What are you doing?"

Sansa was not Margaery Tyrell nor a Dornish woman, to whom romances and more (!) were easily created and acted on- her family and Northern acquaintances were honourable and bound by a code. She, of course, knew it wasn't as if they'd never acted outside of it (Jon's existance, for instance - and when the children had behaved in a manner their parents believed not fitting to their name, heritage and responsibilities- they were accordingly punished for such; Sansa almost never misbehaved and therefore had little experience of bad behaviour, beyond what she occasionally heard), but the unpleasant and/ or dishonourable aspects of life were usually skirted around- spoken of euphemistically if they were spoken of, avoided, ignored or downplayed - there was a time when she appreciated the efforts of her family to keep such things from her. Now, however, it frustrated her. All she had to go on were the poems and stories she read and songs she heard- and sometimes servants' and courtiers' gossip, but she rarely gave such overheard conversations much heed.

"I've had so few choices in my life, especially in recent years- but I'm choosing this." She surprised herself with the fluidity and impassioned tone of what she'd just said.

"Sansa, I..."

His hesitation worried her, in light of her inexperience - what if he laughed and called her a foolish child- or worse? _Why was this so difficult?_ The stories made it seem far easier than it was proving. She was starting to shake slightly, like an Aspen leaf on the breeze. She rushed on, falteringly- desperation and bravado warring with her caution and ladies' education. "It- it doesn't have to change your- p-plans- it doesn't- doesn't have to change _anything_. B-but I **want** this. Un-unless, you don't..."

He came toward her swiftly- and his kiss had stopped what she had been going to say – she forgot what she had been going to say. His tongue danced in her mouth, firm yet giving- it was a new and strange experience, though not unpleasant. And she would know much more, before the night was over.

He lifted her in his arms, as though she were no heavier than a feather, bearing her over to her bed and depositing her gently on the covers. Her whole body thrummed and shook, not a little, with anticipation and then a new kind of energy- she undressed slowly, like she had on her wedding night and yet, not the same at all - that had been intended to be duty alone- if Tyrion had taken her, she would have tried to bear it with as much dignity and grace as she could- an act to be endured, but not enjoyed or looked forward to; but she had not been able to disguise her relief when all of her 'marriage' came to no more than the sharing of chambers and a bed, without the actual bedding. In public, she was on his arm and sat next to him- yet it fooled no-one. Now, she undressed slowly, in order to steady her nerves- nerves that were vastly different to that night.

Petyr also divested himself of his garments- and she noted he was possessed of a surprisingly taut figure. With the bewilderment of the young that someone older wasn't shuffling day by day toward the grave, she was pleased to note muscles were present, but not overwhelming- he was also well-groomed and appeared to have taken excellent care of his person; all in all, he was a well-formed man, though she had little enough to compare him to. There _was_ one very obvious marring: a long scar, running from his neck down to no more than half an inch from his navel - that explained his dress-style; all those high-collared shirts were to hide the start of his injury.

His advance toward her was unassuming, rather than predatory - he seemed to be taking care not to startle her, lest she change her mind. And Sansa was more than grateful for the consideration.

He was incredibly gentle with her- his touch was surprisingly soft and exquisite- and seemed, even to her young mind, very practised, and yet exceedingly tender. He didn't force or demand- in love, like everything else with him, it seemed; he cleverly persuaded- he gentled her toward each new sensation and experience, carefully backing away into what felt comfortable, when he sensed her fear or any hint of nerves or apprehension- rather than forcibly proceeding into an act that could have shattered the night into a disaster and ruined all.

He made her whole body, every fibre in her, dance and sing- like he was a chorographical master. Petyr made her yearn for his touch- responded to his slightest ministrations

Sansa still remembered in the back of her mind that she had become petrified at the idea of bedding with Joffrey- after he'd shown his true colours, thinking with horror and revulsion of what terrible things he might do to her - it had been like the mind-numbing fear that had shuddered into her brain- with those filthy, lustful men from the Kingslanding riot- only it would be worse, because there wouldn't be anyone to stop him.

But there was no comparison; Petyr was slowly and carefully breaking down the walls of resistance she'd spent the better part of three years building up and reinforcing – Joffrey wouldn't have cared if there were walls or fear- he would have just thoughtlessly plundered, hurt and made her bleed.

There **had** been a small measure of pain- and she had heard that there would be blood- but the pain was gone, almost as quickly as she had felt it.

The whole night long, there had been this indescribable explosion of new sensations and feelings. Petyr had taken her and her body to insane highs and incredible depths- and yet she'd never felt anything but safe in his arms. Her newly awakened passion and ecstasy had flowed from her like a tidal wave, by the time it was over- and she felt the most extraordinary and blissful feeling of weightlessness, after – and yet, she had also never felt more anchored to a moment- and a person.

He had held her in his arms and stroked the damp, dyed strands away from her face, asking with both compassion and a hint of fear, instead of his usual sardonic manner, "How do you feel?"

It was her turn to speak wryly. "A bit bruised- but I've been hurt worse."

"Sansa..."

She reassured him, "I don't mean to insult you- you know what I've been through, as well as anyone. Do you know what's funny? This is not even the last thing I ever thought of for myself- but I could imagine myself to be, almost perfectly happy, just like this. Just here with you."

"You _are_ happy, then?" His lightened tone, made her think that he'd actually needed her reassurance somehow- like it had taken some long-existing, unknown weight from him.

She kissed him softly, her fingers absently tracing the scar that she'd heard about. "I am- and I'll be happy to know that you're happy."

He smiled at her words, and it reached his eyes- as it often did when with her, she noticed, "I am more happy than you know."

Her tone turned momentarily serious, "If that is true, then I am glad. Because I will not be a substitute- for **anyone**. If there is- or was ever anyone else in your heart, then I want them gone." She couldn't trust herself to say the name.

Petyr cupped her face, "Only you reside here, sweetest Sansa. There was, one other- but she flew from me, some time ago. I didn't realise, that it wasn't so much her as an idea of her that I had clung to for so very long. She had belonged to another for many years, yet I had still hoped. My hopes did not eventuate into reality, though- and by the time she was gone, all I had left was the idea that became my ideal."

"An idea of her?"

"But a youthful dream, my love- gone, like mist and starlight with a coming dawn."

"You put it so poetically. Did it hurt- to realise that, after all these years?"

He couldn't hide the momentary inadvertent grimace he made, but answered easily enough, "Not as much as I thought. And I have **you** to thank for that. You and your very real affections. So rest easy, dear one. You're now the only one for me. I feel like I have had to wait a lifetime, for this moment with you- to feel this perfect peace and calm. Absent all other thought, but the rarity of pure, unadulterated joy. I am quite unused to the feeling- but I will cherish this- and you, forever."

And Sansa could feel that he meant every word.

*?*

{{I've wondered what would happen if she saw her mother once more (the 'youthful dream' that had been Petyr's)- (if)after she and Petyr became intimate. Considering how freaked out she gets, by the ugly and cruel in the world- her own mother would just about terrify her, because she wouldn't look like her mother [she's described as paler, soft- because of her time in water- and she has hard eyes, a gash across her throat, that she has to hold, to be able to speak and her voice is different after her death]- and she would be much harder and colder than she was- she lives for revenge, now- against the people she deems responsible; for the Red Wedding- for Ned's death- for the loss of Winterfell and damage to the North and the Riverlands, the deaths and displacement of her family and her children.

Sansa and Arya are still alive (though whether she knows/ learns of the Jeyne Poole substitution to the Boltons or not, I don't know)- she wants her daughters back. But would she consider the two of them (Sansa and Petyr), together, a betrayal?}}

{{From their (Cat and Petyr's) last confrontation in the TV show, if he and Sansa do strike up a romance- there are likely going to be fireworks between her and Cat- she'll likely tell Sansa that she can't trust him- and Sansa might scream back that she's had no-one else in her corner, no-one to help her and few who cared about her, what was she supposed to do?

And frankly- I think Lady Stoneheart would terrify Sansa, she'd likely draw even closer to Petyr; cause, let's think about this: While she loved the idea of Joffrey and overlooked his bad qualities [most people count that as a point against her, but hell, even Ned understood why (SEE HIS CONVERSATION WITH ARYA IN THE BOOK)]- But when he betrayed her and her father died, there was no forgiveness in her heart- it was all just survival, to get by- But she WANTS friendship, love, safety and security, yet that no longer comes from her family- so she takes it where she can find it; Shae, Tyrion (to an extent), Sandor (''), Dontos, ("), the Tyrells and of course, Petyr himself- I actually think she already had conflicting feelings regarding her mother, when her world turned to crap (but wanted to go home and sincerely mourned when she thinks she's dead)- so when Mom loses her good qualities- and has only hardness, hatred and blood, all-encompassing vengeance, that destroys everyone, Sansa's probably not going to want that (she had enough of that at the capitol). It wouldn't surprise me in the least, if she ended up hating her mom}}

Petyr Baelish (he's complicated; he's got a deep-seated resentment, yet he can compartmentalise it, so he can function and not appear a threat - he shows a great deal of warmth and sincerity toward Sansa, from the time they meet- later serves as her tutor, guardian and protector- and something else?)


End file.
